Stalkers (32 page)

‘I’m doing the best I can!’ she snapped, climbing up alongside him. She’d snagged her arm and the left side of her face; both were bleeding freely.

The catwalk, which had been exposed less to the elements, felt a lot safer than the stair. Heck led the way along it towards the southwest corner. They scaled the last ladder to the superstructure’s outer catwalk, which seemed to be little more than a viewing parapet, a three-foot-wide ledge with a low safety barrier. Heck still urged Lauren on. ‘We’ve got to get inside now,’ he said.

The parapet floor was metal grillwork, which
bonged
like a bell as they rushed along it, rounding corner after corner, passing numerous portholes in the superstructure’s rusted bulkhead. Just ahead lay the entrance to the bridge connecting with the south tower. A figure in black had already started across from its far end.

‘Oh Jesus,’ Lauren said slowly.

‘That’s what I was worried about …
QUICKLY
!’

Directly facing the entrance to the bridge was a door. It was made entirely from steel, but again had rusted with age. It stood partly ajar, but when they tried to force it further, it grated on hinges that had all but locked with disuse.

Dum – dum – dum –
Deke’s approaching feet grew louder.

Flattening their bodies, Heck and Lauren managed to slide inside. As they tried to shut the door behind them, they saw Deke stop in the middle of the bridge and take aim. There was a gunflash and an ear-popping
CHUNG!
The door crashed wide open, a massive indentation in its central panel. Heck threw his shoulder behind it to try and close it again. Lauren saw Deke resume running. The bridge vibrated alarmingly, but he came on at pace. Even from this distance, she could see the red tinge of his angry face.

With a
crunch
, they got the door closed. There were two bolts, again caked with rust. With colossal efforts, they rammed both home. Then they backed away, panting.

A second slug struck the other side of the door; another huge dent appeared.

‘So much for us thinking this guy might be prepared to trade,’ Lauren said.

Heck shook his head. ‘That was before we knew he had someone on the inside. Whoever his police contact is, they’ll bury that ledger the moment it gets filed as evidence.’

They glanced around. The room was dim, lit only by a single porthole with dirty glass in it. The light eddying through showed nothing but dust, decay and scattered seagull feathers.

‘Where do we go now?’ she asked.

‘There’ll be another bridge on the other side, probably leading to the north tower.’

‘Yeah, and there’ll be one leading from that to the east
tower, and one leading from that back to the south tower .
. . Jesus Christ, Heck, he’s just going to chase us round in a circle ’til he gets us.’

There was a thundering
crash
against the bulkhead door – it sounded like the impact of a rifle butt. They retreated across the room towards another door, hesitant to go into blind flight – this place was old, rickety, likely to be full of danger. But when two further blows bashed through a corner of the damaged panel, and a gloved fist appeared holding a hand-grenade, they turned and ran for their lives.

There was a cacophonous explosion in the room behind them, made all the louder by the drum-like confines of the superstructure.

They staggered down a long, straight passage, which was lit at its far end by another bulkhead door standing ajar. Various rooms led off from this, looking as if they’d once been offices, though there was a particularly large one on the left into which light streamed from two different sources: an open trapdoor in the middle of its floor, which presumably dropped clear down to the river, and a similar hatch in the roof, accessible by a single wooden ladder. The steel frames of bunk-beds were also visible in there, alongside a row of green lockers. This had once been living quarters, but now the pervading smells were of oil, damp and mildewed metal.

‘Go onto the next bridge,’ Lauren said with sudden decisiveness.

‘What?’

She began to rip her clothes off. ‘We can’t keep running, Heck.’

From somewhere behind, there was another deafening
boom
. It sounded like the bulkhead door finally being blown from its hinges.

Lauren nodded that Heck should do as she said. By the determined look on her face, the frightened girl had gone and the squaddie had returned.

‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ he said.

‘Just don’t go too far – keep me in earshot.’

He nodded, lurched back into the passage and kicked his way out through the next bulkhead door onto the viewing catwalk. The wind tugged at him; once again the drop to the river was precipitous. Ten yards to his right, the next bridge led off towards the north tower. He backed towards it, his eyes fixed on the doorway he’d just vacated.

Lauren meanwhile had stripped down to her vest and knickers. This was a desperate ploy, but she was counting on Deke’s professionalism. He was unlikely to dash madly in order to catch up with them. He’d figure that his prey were tired and cold and couldn’t keep running indefinitely – so he’d follow warily, expecting an ambush.

She clumped her sodden clothes into a ball, squeezed them until they were dribbling river water, then crossed the room, making sure to leave a trail behind her. When she reached the bottom of the ladder, a patch of sky was visible above the ceiling hatch. That would be the roof, the old gun platform. There’d be nowhere else to go once you were up there – which was why she intended to stay down here. She squeezed her bundle again, and tossed it up through the hatch, ensuring that drips and splashes appeared on the rungs of the ladder. She herself backtracked across the room, climbed into a locker and closed its door to a crack. It was hellishly claustrophobic; tight as a coffin. A loathsome, multi-legged horror landed on her shoulder and scuttled down onto her breasts. She brushed it off with a barely suppressed shriek.

The door to the bunk room opened.

She froze.

Through the slender gap, she saw a tall figure slide in and brace itself against the wall next to the door. It was Deke; he was clad in heavy, dark combat gear, and rigged with a black bandoleer to which a large knife, another grenade and numerous rounds of ammunition were attached. A Glock was visible at his hip, and he held the Dragunov across his chest, one finger hooked on its trigger.

He scanned the room carefully, presumably giving his eyes time to adjust to the gloom. Then he glanced downward. She’d been right – he was following the water trail. He advanced slowly, cautiously, weaving his way towards the ladder.

Lauren held her breath. Deke had clearly realised that Heck’s flight to the next bridge, which would have left its own trail of droplets, had been a feint; the question was would he fall for this double bluff? When he reached the bottom of the ladder, he paused to listen. Then, with the Dragunov barrel pointed upward, he began to climb – very, very slowly, his eyes trained unwaveringly on the hatch above.

He was halfway up when Lauren attacked.

She broke cover like a whirlwind, hurling herself across the room and leaping onto him from behind. She was already shouting for Heck as they hit the deck together.

Heck was hovering on the viewing catwalk, wondering if he’d have the courage to drop ninety feet into the river should Deke suddenly appear, when he heard her shouts. He dashed in through the bulkhead door, raced down the corridor and into the bunk room.

Deke had got to his feet, but Lauren was clamped to his back like a crab, legs wrapped around his hips, arms around his neck. He held the Dragunov in his left hand, while slamming his right elbow back repeatedly. She cringed with each blow, but hung bravely on. Only when he drove his head backward, mashing it into her nose and mouth, did she weaken and slip off. Heck was now halfway across the room – Deke swung his rifle like a bat, but Heck ducked it and kicked him hard between the legs. Deke half doubled. Heck kicked again, this time knocking the rifle from his grasp – it clattered across the floor. Clasping both fists together, Heck brought them down hard on the back of the hit-man’s neck.
But Deke rode the blow and barrelled forward, catching
Heck in the midriff, shoving him backward – only to be rugby tackled from behind by Lauren. He fell full-length, and she clambered onto his back. He drove his right forearm back, smashing it against the side of her jaw, sending her sprawling. But as he got back to his feet, Heck swung his right foot, kicking him in the face. Again, incredibly, Deke rode the blow and this time went for his pistol. Heck grabbed his arm, only to be smacked in the jaw with a rocketing left hook.

As Heck wheeled away and dropped, Deke straightened up, spat crimson phlegm, then released the catch on his hip-holster and drew the Glock. And stopped rigid.

‘Drop it!’ Lauren barked, jamming the muzzle of his Dragunov all the harder into the side of his head. ‘Drop it now, or your brains are graffiti.’

Deke’s hand opened and the Glock fell to the floor.

‘Mitts where I can see ’em!’

For several taut seconds they were motionless, Lauren and Deke bloodied, sparkling with sweat, Heck groggy, only vaguely aware what was happening.

‘You need me alive,’ Deke said, raising his empty hands.

‘Don’t bank on it.’

‘Okay.’ He gave a fluting, crazy kind of laugh. ‘
I
need me alive.’

And he lurched away quickly, throwing himself across the room in a spectacular dive. He’d aimed for the trapdoor in the floor – and he cleared it by less than an inch, disappearing from view.

‘Shit!’ Lauren screamed, darting after him. But before she’d reached the aperture, she heard a strangled groan of pain, followed by profuse curses.

When she looked through the gap, Deke was a foot or so underneath her, suspended upside down in a web of barbed wire. Blood leaked from numerous gashes in his face and hands.

Heck, still unsteady on his feet, appeared alongside her. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘Seems the Angel of Death has had his wings clipped.’

Lauren watched Deke down the barrel of the Dragunov. ‘What do you say, Heck? Shall we snatch total victory from the jaws of certain defeat?’

Deke stared up at them. Despite his predicament, he chuckled. ‘Do you people have the first idea what you’re dealing with here?’

‘You’re going to tell us,’ Heck said.

It wasn’t easy dragging the hit-man back up into the bunk room. Heck did most of it, lugging him by the feet, while Lauren kept the rifle trained on him.

‘Just gimme a reason,’ she kept repeating, and by the wild glint in her eye, Heck suspected that she wasn’t kidding. Deke had hurt her of course: had beaten her, had tried to kill her; they’d been chased from pillar to post, they’d roughed it, been scared half to death – and to top it all, she was still no nearer to finding her sister. Or so she felt.

They tied Deke’s hands behind his back with a piece of rope they found hanging from a girder, and knelt him up to face interrogation. Lauren put the rifle aside, and grabbed the Glock. She pointed it straight at the prisoner’s face while Heck did the talking. They’d already searched him thoroughly, removing his one remaining grenade, his knife and his ammunition belt, before removing a second, even sharper knife, which they found in his boot. In one pouch they discovered a coil of high-tensile wire, doubtless a garrotte, in another a tube of capsules which Heck guessed were cyanide pills.

‘Filthy tools for a filthy trade,’ he said.

Deke smiled, unconcerned.

‘I know you’re working for a group called the Nice Guys,’ Heck added. ‘And that you and they have been following my investigation. Which means that someone must have been tipping you fellas off about my progress.’

Still no reply.

‘It would be in your interests to answer.’

‘That shows how much you know,’ Deke said.

‘You think we won’t beat the crap out of you, if we have to?’ Lauren retorted.

‘Give it your best shot.’

Lauren clenched a fist, but Heck led her to one side. ‘He’s ex-special forces,’ he said quietly. ‘He’s probably been worked over by experts – and that’s just in training. Let’s chill out and think this through.’

She scowled but nodded.

Heck turned back to the prisoner. ‘You’ve tied yourself in with some bad people, Deke. People who are only going to one place. You really want to go with them?

Deke still seemed indifferent.

‘We have something you want,’ Heck added.

‘No you don’t.’

‘Something that will implicate you in a number of extremely serious crimes.’

‘That’ll be taken care of.’

‘How?’ Lauren demanded. ‘How will it be taken care of? Who’s the bent bastard copper who put you onto McCulkin?’

‘Ease off,’ Heck warned her.

‘Look at the smug bastard!’ she snapped. ‘He thinks we’re not tough enough to make him talk!’

‘Whoever your police contact is,’ Heck told him, ‘he’s not going to help you now. He can’t. You ought to think about your future, what there is left of it. The time for being a good soldier is past. You’ll never receive money for murdering or brutalising people again. You’ll never receive money for
anything
again. There’s no reason to show loyalty to people who’d now rather you were dead than alive.’

Deke smiled to himself.

Heck continued: ‘It’s very simple. I want to know who the Nice Guys are and where I can find them.’

‘And just out of interest,’ Deke asked, ‘what do I get in return?’

‘How about your freedom?’

‘
What?
’
Lauren said, stunned.

Deke sneered. ‘You’re not in a position to make that kind of deal.’

‘But I am in a position to leave you on this fort alive and unguarded.’

Deke laughed. ‘And how do you propose to do that? You can’t even get off this fort yourself. Going to swim again? The last time you tried that, it nearly killed you.’

Lauren butted in, grabbing him by the lapels. ‘This is not a debating society, you arrogant shitehawk! Give us some answers or I’ll punch your fucking lights out!’